Coffee Shop

Our Hero comes upon the roadblock with disappointment but not surprise.

“Just keep going through,” he says to his female companion, ”I’ll meet you on the other side.”

And with that, he rolls out of the car in one quick motion, popping up on his feet behind an SUV.

“I’m just not feeling creatively stimulated by our relationship.” ZAP and I’m back in the cafe on 6th Avenue and 12th Street, ripped from the adventure screenplay I’ve been working on. It’s Sunday afternoon and the couple sitting next to me is breaking up. I try not to listen but it’s rather distracting and I don’t have my headphones.

“I don’t understand why we need a business?” she says finally. She has an accent.

“It could be anything,” he says, “A song, a poem, a story.”
She grimaces.

“I just think we should do something creative.”

It’s my first time at the coffee shop and it’s nice, though I wonder why these two picked this particular place to break up in. But, it is very environmentally friendly; their cups, lids, stirrers and heat protectors are all compostable. Personally I find this comforting as I’ve been shocked over the past two weeks how many plastic bags people go through on a daily basis.

I stood outside a deli briefly the other day and watched a barrage of bags leave in the hands of many people—a few of them dumping them in the garbage can on the corner immediately.

I’ve been making an effort to carry my purchases or bringing a bag of my own.

Tap, tap, tap. The Young Mother in the SUV turns her head surprised. Our Hero flashes her a winning smile and says, “Ma’am, I need your help.” She thinks for a moment before unlocking the doors.

We cut inside to the backseat of the SUV, a body under a blanket. Car by car, the SUV gradually approaches the front of the line. Cops are searching the cars. They are getting closer. Tension is heightening. ZAP.

“I think the top search bar should be blue.” A new pair is now sitting next to me. They are loudly discussing the website that they are starting together. Their screens are pointed away from me and as they bend in toward them they are practically staring right at me.

“It could be simpler and cleaner. Like this.” She taps her keyboard and brings up another website. I glance around the coffee shop. Many of the people have changed since the last time I looked up. And though I eavesdrop quite extensively and the website duo speak quite loudly, I am unable to figure out exactly what their website does.

The girl tries to get the guy to focus. He’s chatting on Skype. She’s irritated.

Personally I have opted out of the small slip of paper that has the password to the Internet. I am going at it untethered this afternoon. I take quite a bit of comfort in the fact that something could happen in the world and I wouldn’t know about it immediately.

The cop stops to ask the Young Mother where she is heading. He seems to notice something strange in the backseat but right at that instant his radio crackles. He answers it and in a daze waves the car through.

The Young Mother drops Our Hero around the bend where his female companion is already waiting with the car running. ZAP.
There is no bathroom at the cafe and I suddenly have to pee. A few of the folks around me have gone down the block to Chipotle but I choose to just head home. “It’s the only bad thing about this place,” the guy across from me says. I nod in agreement.

It’s 5:30 p.m. and already dark out. Can’t get quite used to that. Nevertheless, the weather is beautiful and I enjoy the stroll back to my apartment. Our Hero drives off into the sunset.

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A 2006 graduate of New York University's Film School, Zac Stuart-Pontier is a freelance editor living and working in New York City. He has been involved in The River Reporter since he was born, and still rides a red tricycle through the office every now and again—unfortunately, no longer as acceptable as it used to be.